Harry and the Big Bird
by Rosettaston3
Summary: Harry and Ruth celebrate their first New Year's together with all their friends AND frenenemies. Fluff? Yep. And about as silly as it gets!  Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Harry and the Big Bird  
**

_Harry and Ruth celebrate their first New Year together with all their friends AND frenenemies._ About as silly as it gets!

-1-

"Ooh. That's a big one." Ruth says to Harry as he hefts the 25lb turkey into the roasting pan for her.

"Say that again, dear. He pauses. "Later."

"Harry. You really are incorrigible," she tells him. But her sparkling eyes belie her words.

He stands behind her and reaches around her waist. "You wouldn't want me any other way. Admit it," he all but purrs into her ear, his hands sliding upwards. Her smile is her answer. And so is her blush which he finds as endearing as ever, perhaps more so in the three months that they've been married.

"Be that as it may," she says, before slipping away from his grasp. "I really need to stuff this turkey." Picking a large spoon off the counter, she goes over to the bowl of stuffing.

"I'd like to stuff something, too." He says, following closely behind her.

"How much have you had to drink?" She asks, quickly spooning the stuffing into the turkey's cavity.

"Not enough." He says, looking glumly at the clock.

She picks her head up, spoon in midair. "I really thought that you were ok with this."

"Ruth." He says. "I am. I'm just kidding. Really."

"I'm not sure you are, actually." She says. "All I really wanted to do was celebrate our first New Year's together. With our friends and colleagues." And," she adds, " you seemed fine when I first suggested it."

"Well, I was in a rather compromising ...position when you did."

"I see." she says. " Well, if you behave this evening, I'll see if can compromise you. Again. Later."

"In that case," he says, grabbing his drink off the counter, "I'd say that things are definitely looking _up_."

Even with her head down, industriously spooning the stuffing into the turkey, he can still tell that she's smiling. "You know," he says, drawing near again, "We could work on that compromise. Now." He glances up at the clock again. "We do have at least 45 minutes to... negotiate."

"Did you say 45 minutes?" She jerks her head up, a note of alarm on her face.

Before he can answer, the door bell rings.

Her look of alarm deepens. "Harry. That can't be our first guest. Can it?"

"Oh, bloody hell." He says. "45 minutes early?" He puts his drink back down on the counter.

"45 minutes?" She repeats. "Harry, did you say 45 ..."

But he's out the kitchen, down the hall and already at the front door. Pasting a holiday smile on his face, Harry opens the door. "Jools Siviter. Come in."

"Well. This is nice, I say." The former section head of MI- 6 swivels his head, taking in the spacious flat. He looks back to Harry. "Where's the blushing bride?

"Stuffing a turkey." She calls out.

"Oh, turkey, is it?" He says only, but his pursed lips and curled up nose say more. Much more. The bell rings. Again.

"Crap!" She says, her voice carrying nicely out the kitchen, down the hall and directly to the guest now standing in the wide open front door. "Home Secretary, " Harry says to his superiour, a bottle in hand, " Welcome to our happy home."

"Sir Harry. Nice of you to invite me." The HS says, his expression dubious. He holds out the bottle.

"Entirely my pleasure," Harry says, firmly taking the bottle and thus speaking the truth. After he takes his superiour's coat, he ushers him into the living room, where Jools is literally sniffing at the caviar. But in no time, drinks are pressed in the guests' hands, and in due time, his guests are sipping and smiling. Then Harry remembers that he left his on the kitchen counter. Wondering how to excuse himself so he can get in the holiday spirit too, his wife quite nicely solves the problem for him.

"Harry!"

"Excuse me, please." He says, quickly heading into the kitchen.

" I can't quite..." She's wrestling with the roasting pan, turkey sitting in it, now completely stuffed and seasoned.

"Here." He says, "Let me." Picking it up, he puts the turkey into the oven.

"This better be done by 12," she says, shutting the oven door.

"By that time," he whispers in her ear, "our guests will be so drunk, it won't matter."

She sighs. "That's not exactly what I envisioned when I invited.."

He places his hand on her shoulder. "Darling. It will be fine. We have plenty of hors d'oeuvres and food. And drinks. Really. "

She nods at that.

" Go on." He says. "Get dressed." Picking up his drink from the counter, he smiles at her.

"I _am _dressed."

Despite the warmth of the kitchen, the room drops about 10 degrees. He pulls his sweater a little closer around him. Then he smiles. His _GetOutOfTRoubleSmile_. But it doesn't seem quite as effective as usual, he notes. Before he can say, _Did I tell you how beautiful you look?_ The bell rings again.

"Exactly what_ tim_e," she almost hisses in his ear, "Did you actually _tell _them to come_?"_

"Uh..."

"Harry?"

"Did I tell you how beautiful you look?"

"Oh, never mind," she says, sighing for the umpteenth time that evening. "Just go inside and make nice to them." She gestures to the tray on one side. "And bring that in, please."

"If I do, will you make nice to me. Later?"

"Maybe," she says. Then smiles at him. "Now go."

"Yes. Mrs. Pearce," he says. Putting down his drink again and picking up the tray laden with hors d' oeuvres, he makes his way towards the living room and his guests.

"Evershed," she calls out. "Evershed!"

"Modern women!" He huffs, but he's smiling. As he goes back to their guests, he does exactly as told, like the dutiful husband he usually tries to be; he makes nice to his guests who keep ringing the bell 45 minutes early, at least according to Harry'_s _calculations. Although there is a teeny, tiny doubt if he got the time ...well, wrong. _B__est not to go there_. He thinks.

The bell rings. Over and Over. First Tariq, then Dimitri and Beth. _Beth and Dimitri? Together? Must ask Ruth. _He goes into the kitchen. "Are you coming out._ Ever_? Ms._ Ever_hsed?" There, he finds her, or rather what's left of her; her head is in the oven and she's basting the bird.

"Very funny." She says, looking up, the heat from the oven making her face flush and hair curl about her face.

He smiles. "Ruth. It's fine. Stop fussing." _Now why did I come in here?_

The doorbell rings. Again.

"Harry. The bell. "

"Yes, I know_. _The bells. The bells. Always the bells."

She shoots him A Look.

"I'm going. "

"Oh, Christ." Harry says under his breath when he sees who's at the door. "Who invited her?" _Or better still, who let her _out_?_


	2. Chapter 2

"Juliet. Juliet Shaw." Harry says, staring at her, uncharacteristically at a loss to say anything else. But he does manage to maneuver most of his stocky frame in the doorway.

Dressed to the nines in a very expensive fur coat, the former national security coordinator expertly sidesteps Harry despite his efforts. "How's Mrs. Spaniel?" She asks, stepping into the foyer.

"Loyal. Beautiful. And loves me unconditionally. Far more than I deserve, in fact."

Juliet does a remarkable Jools Siviter impersonation, lip and nose curl and all, which immediately gives Harry an idea. "Let me hang up your coat, Juliet," he says, carefully taking it from her as if it were the most precious gift to mankind. "I think there's someone you deserve. I mean, someone here you would like to meet." And," he adds, "I'm certain that he deserv-would love to meet you as well."

"Really?" She says and pats her hair. She sashays into the living room, a noxious cloud of perfume following her whilst Harry goes over to the hall closet with her coat cradled in his arms. But when she turns the other way, somehow the coat slips out of his arms and onto the floor. Somehow as well her very expensive fur coat manages to wipe itself on his shoe. "Imagine that." Harry says, smiling a smile that actually reaches his eyes. He goes back into the living room, still smiling.

"Jools," Harry says to him, "You've never actually met our lovely Juliet, have you? She's just back from TR-...".

"Tut. Tut. Harry." She says, wagging her claw of a finger. "Classified."

_More like _certified _you mean._ But he keeps a perfectly impassive face even when she draws near him and whispers, "Classified. Just like our little...Well. You know." Then she smiles.

Giving silent thanks for his rigorous training to sustain the most grievous torture, he manages not to upchuck all over her Prada shoes. Instead he quietly says, "If I recall, Juliet, at the time you were _quite vocal _that there _was nothing little_ about _it. _Not at _all_." He walks away from her, a smirk on his face.

She titters. "Oh. Harry. You're such a card." And she smiles again. But unlike Harry's, her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. She sits down on the couch next to Jools and crossing her legs, jiggles her feet a bit, red soles flashing against the shiny black pumps.

"What's so funny"? Jools says, sidling up to her, getting a load of the diamond jewelry that glitters on every square inch of her.

"Oh, just a private joke." She says, her smile still fixed. Then, her eyes lock upon Jools' diamond encrusted Piaget wristwatch. "My. Is _that_ the time?" She sidles in even closer and begins to caress the diamonds encircling the face of the watch. Slowly. All around. Twice in fact. Both giggle. In short time, the couch is all but lit up with their smiles, jewelry, and insincerity.

Harry smiles. And figures it's a good time to go back into the kitchen.

"Here. Taste." Ruth says, holding out a spoonful of hummus. She all but shoves it into his mouth. He makes a face.

"Oh, God." She says, "What's wrong with it?"

He swallows it down as quickly as he can. "No. No, darling. It's fine. It's just that..."

"Oh. You really don't like it!" She looks at him, stricken. "I don't understand what I did wrong—"

"Darling. Please…it's _fine._ I promise you. It's just ….uh… Juliet's here."

Her eyes open. "She's... here? In our home?" Her eyes dart in the direction of the living room.

"Well. Yes." He adds, speaking carefully, no hint of criticism in his tone. "After all, my darling, you did invite her." At the look on her face, he says, "Didn't you?"

"Uh...no. Why would I?"

"Well, I certainly didn't. And I really don't know how she knew," he says, dropping his voice. "Last I heard she was still locked up at TR-"

"There you two are! Aren't they cute, Joolzy? The newlyweds."

"Speaking of the de...diva," Harry says, then slips his arm around Ruth who draws closer to him. Both Harry and Ruth match smiles with Juliet and Jools, now arm and arm. The last look as if they were twins separated at birth and recently reunited, their round blue eyes glittering like their jewelry. "We just wanted to wish you all the best," Juliet says. "Didn't we, Joolzy?"

"Hmm. what? Oh. Righto. Of course, Julsy." He smiles. Juliet smiles. Harry and Ruth smile. Time passes. No one blinks.

Mercifully, the doorbell rings.

"Excuse me," Harry says. Leaving Ruth with the demonic duo, he shoots her a commiserative look. She nods at him, a slight gleam in her eye. "So Juliet," he hears her say as he heads to the door, "Long time no see. Where have they been keeping you? I mean, of course, where have _you_'ve been keeping yourself?"

Harry smiles. And smiles again when he opens the door. "Malcolm. Thank God you're here," he says, ushering in his former colleague and friend.

Malcolm holds out a bottle, scanning the room. His eyes grow quite large. "Juliet AND Jools? "He whispers, as the two enter the living room again, still arm and arm.

"Don't ask." Harry says.

"I won't," says Malcolm. "But isn't she supposed to be, erm….you know. Locked up?"

"I thought so, too." He says. "But not to fear. I set the dog, so to speak, on Jools."

"Masterfully done. Harry."

Harry beams.

"And from the look of it," Malcolm says, his eyes still on the unholy couple. "They'll be able to keep their own monogrammed towels as well."

"Hmm?" Harry says, taking Malcolm's coat.

"Same initials. Same first name, too." He pauses. "Interesting, that."

"Oh. Right. A match made in Hades." He says, kicking Juliet's fur coat out of the way and carefully hanging up Malcolm's Burberry.

Malcolm's eyes lift from Juliet's crumpled coat on the floor now branded with a size 10 shoe print, up to his host. "Juliet's?"

Harry nods, an evil grin on his face.

"Ah. I say again…Masterful."

Shutting the closet door, Harry says, "So glad you could make it, Malcolm. And I mean it."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Together, both men head into the living room.


	3. Chapter 3

-3-

As the old year winds down, Harry is right. No one much cares if the bird is stuffed, ready to eat, or even on the premises. Clearly at that time of the night, all his guests were "making rather merry," in the words of Bob Cratchit.

And making rather merry indeed, according to Harry, are the Joolzies. _Or is that Julsies? _He wonders. Looking at them on the couch, the couch that they claimed hours ago, the Joolzies (he decides to give it the masculine form), have not been able to keep their hands off the other's jewelry. And accessories. Harry draws closer to the clueless couple on his couch, Jools sitting up, Juliet's feet in his lap.

"Care for a drink, Joolzy—erm… Jools?" Harry asks. Malcolm, off to the side, watches intently; he appears to be keeping a running tally of some kind in his head whenever Jools touches Juliet's red soles.

"How about it?" Harry asks again, holding out a champagne bottle in his hand.

"Hmmm…?" Eyes glazed, Jools looks up. But his hands keep stroking Juliet's shoes. Infinitely slowly. Some might even say he fondles them. Most of the other guests, except for Harry and Malcolm, have long ago averted their eyes at his handling of her shoes. "You know, Julsy," Jools says to Juliet. "We _could_ try to drink some bubbly out of your Prada." His breath seems to quicken at the very thought.

She jerks her shoes off his lap.

Jools looks bereft at the loss of her Pradas. "Oh. Julsy. Just having a bit of fun. Really. I wouldn't _dream_ of sullying your shoes. Either one." he adds.

"I should think not." She says in as an aggrieved tone Harry has ever heard her use. She begins to get up.

"Here." Jools says, hurriedly taking off his Piaget watch. "As collateral."

Her eyes fill with light. Taking the watch, she slips it on her bony wrist. Jools, in in turn, pats his lap. She settles herself back on the couch, her feet in his lap once more. Harry and Malcolm wait. Jools runs his hand across the black leather then begins to stroke the red leather soles. Harry catches Malcolm's eye. Resignedly, he nods in acknowledgement.

Harry smiles. _12 red sole strokes before the stroke of Midnight. Score! _ True, not quite as exciting as a dog-race, he thinks, but a good bottle of Scotch will do nicely. For good measure he mouths to his colleague, _Laphroaig_.

_I know. _Malcolm mouths back_. _Then shrugs good naturedly. He knows he'll be sharing the bottle with Harry, anyway.

"10, 9, 8,…"

Harry's attention is diverted from winning his bet and the promise of a good bottle of Scotch. He looks for Ruth, but she's across the room near Dimitri and Beth. He stares at his junior officers who are standing shoulder to shoulder._ Ah. That's what I meant to ask her."…_

"… _3, 2, 1!" _

_Happy New year!" _

Despite his best efforts in crossing the room to get to Ruth, Harry instead finds himself at midnight standing next to the Home Secretary. "Happy New Year," the HS says rather soberly to Harry. "Happy New Year," Harry says. The two men shake hands, eyeing one another. Harry pulls his gaze away and looks at the crowd. It thins out just enough for him to see Malcolm give Ruth a chaste kiss on her cheek. Then somehow Juliet comes into his field of vision. Astonishing as it is, she has torn herself from Jules and is now heading towards Harry. Sidestepping Dimitri and Beth now locked in an embrace_, _he manages to elude Juliet just in the nick of time. But by the time he gets to where Ruth was only moments ago, she's gone.

Someone taps him on the shoulder. _"God. If that's Julsy... _Steeling himself, he turns around.

"Hi." Ruth says, a big smile on her face. It rapidly fades when she sees the look on his. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong?" He says, sounding not unlike a little boy way past his bedtime. "Our first New Year's. And you," he points, "were over _there_. And I," he points to himself, a woebegone look on his face, "was over _here_. Alone. And all I wanted was to ...mmmmmm.."

He kisses her back. And wraps his arms around her. Not caring at all if the others are watching. In fact, he hopes they are. Especially Juliet.

"Better?" she whispers in his ear.

"Much." He croons in her ear. "But do consider it just a prelude, darling."

"Promises, Promises. Darling."

He kisses her again.

* * *

Not long after, the party winds down, much to Harry's relief. He watches benignly as Beth and Dimitri quietly leave together. _No need to ask Ruth, after all_. He smiles and silently wishes them as much happiness as he has with Ruth. Then his attention turns to The Joolzies as they leave arm and arm, she wearing her very expensive fur coat. And his shoe print on the back of it. Soon after, all the guests bid him good night and a "Happy New Year." Finally, after reminding Malcolm about the Scotch, Harry locks the door, shuts out the light, and joins Ruth already upstairs.

As he undresses, the afterimage of his shoe print on the back of his nemesis' very expensive fur coat is burned into his brain. He hopes it stays there, too. Permanently . Both the shoe print and the image._ Jools and Juliet. J&J. JS & JS. Mr. and Mrs. Joolzy. __Soon._ _They really do deserve each other_. And for the first time that he can actually remember, he will look forward to shopping for a wedding gift for them, for there is no doubt in him mind that they will soon wind up with one another. And make each other miserable in due time. He almost rubs his hands together at the prospect. _Won't Ruth be surprised when he suggests that they actually shop together_? He smiles at the thought and looks over at her, already in bed, turned on her side and facing away from him,

Tossing his trousers on the chair across the room, he thinks_, Monogrammed towels, indeed. Yes. That will do quite nicely_. _Thank you, Malcolm_.

Finally slipping under the sheets, he looks over to Ruth. "Darling?" She is, as he suspected, already asleep. He smiles. _My wife. _And considerate husband that he is, decides to negotiate a compromise later and let her sleep. Sliding in closer, he wraps his arms around her. She gives a little sound of contentment, nestling in closer to him but does not wake up.

His arms around her, he drops off quickly as well. But perhaps due to all the food he ate and all he alcohol he drank, it is far from a restful sleep. He tosses and turns. And has strange dreams.

Juliet's strident voice trills in his mind's ear._ "Go get it, Spaniel! My Precious! My Tring! Bring me back my Tring!" _ Then Jools comes trotting up, a gold watch in his mouth and wearing a red cape with a diamond studded monogram on it: _JS2 4ever_. Juliet, wearing her fur coat with gold studded footprints all over it, beams at him. Taking the gold watch from Jools, she puts in on her head, wearing it as a tiara. Jools sits up and barks rhythmically. It sounds vaguely like Wagner's _Die Walküre, Act I._

But Harry doesn't know what any of that means. He tosses and turns some more. Finally, his eyes open, but he has trouble focusing. The room is very dark, and it's almost as if he's eyes are not really open. He reaches for the form next to him. "Darling," he says, "Are you awake?"

The form turns over towards him. "Would you like your turkey stuffed now?" A masculine voice asks. Harry stares across at the other person as it comes into focus. Jools Siviter stares back at him, a lascivious leer on his face. He licks his lips no less.

Harry opens his mouth to scream. But no sound comes out. He tries to scrabble out of the way, but finds he cannot.

"Did you say, 'Darling?'" Jools says, shifting in closer. And closer. "How quaint! Well, how about it, _Darling?"_

Harry tries to scream. Again. And once again, not a sound can he make.

"Darling?" Jools asks, now inches from Harry's face.

Harry finally manages to bring forth a sound between a howl and a man possessed. The bed begins to shake. And shake. Or rather, something is shaking him. Over and Over.

"Harry! Harry! Wake up!"

The face of Jools blurs and recedes; Ruth's worried face takes its place. "Are you alright?" she asks, her cool hand against his cheek.

He stares at her. Then swallows. "I don't know. Am I awake?"

"Oh. Harry. It must have been an awful nightmare." She says and strokes his cheek. "My love. My darling."

He stares at her, his breathing finally quieting, "Slap me. Please. Or pinch me. Do something. Quick. Just so I know that I'm really awake."

She grabs him in a most agreeable place. "About that compromise…"

"On second thought," he says, "If I'm dreaming, d_on't_ wake me. Please. "

-The end-

* * *

HaPpy NeW yEaR! Thanks for reading/ reviews. (I hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it!) And Long live the Joolzies! :)


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